The Count and the Convict
by JP Fanfic
Summary: The Count of Monte Cristo and Jean Valjean are two well known characters. But did you know they existed in the same time period and in the same locales? With two characters that have such similar stories and yet opposite motivations, wouldn't it be interesting if these two characters happened to meet in Paris, Oct. 1829? What would they talk about? Justice and Mercy meet.
1. Edmond Dantes

**This is a crossover between Les Miserable and  The Count of Monte Cristo. As a very natural crossover, I am surprised that no one has done this since their stories are so similar and take place at the same time and in the same locales. It would have been very probable if these characters had really existed, that for the span from March 1829 when Edmond Dantes escaped from Chateaux D'if and found the treasure of Monte Cristo, to the Summer of 1833 when Jean Valjean died, that Dantes and Valjean could have met. It is true that Edmond Dantes did not return to Paris as the Count of Monte Cristo until 1838, but he had made elaborate plans under many aliases throughout the nine years post-prison, and certainly he would have visited Paris prior to his coming as the Count.**

 **A word about the movies and books. This story is based off the unabridged versions of both Les Miserables and  The Count of Monte Cristo and for those that are only familiar with the movies or plays there may be a few differences.**

 **For The Count of Monte Cristo the most notable differences between the 2002 movie and the novel are the following:**

 **1\. In the novel, Mercedes' son, Albert, is NOT the son of Edmond Dantes, but the true son of Fernand Mondego. Fernand Mondego was not even the main villain of the story either, and his final demise is at his own hand.**

 **2\. In the novel and in the movie, Edmond is continually warned that his revenge will go too far. In the 2002 movie, he completely accomplishes his revenge and suffers no consequences. He gets the woman, the son, the wealth, and his revenge. In the novel, his revenge goes too far and as a consequence Edouard, the young child of Villefort dies. Edmond has his first signs of regret for his vengeance when he sees the innocent life taken for the benefit of his own motives.**

 **3\. In the novel Edmond does NOT end up with Mercedes; in fact, it seems that he had never any intention to return to Mercedes, but still provided for her so she would not be destitute.**

 **For Les Miserables , the most important difference for the purpose of this short story is the reason for Jean Valjean's second imprisonment. The first prison sentence was for stealing bread of which he served nineteen years in prison and was released, having paid his debt to society. The second time was for stealing a coin from a child AFTER Monseigneur Bienvenu had forgiven him for stealing. It was for the theft of that coin that Javert was pursuing him and is then sent to prison again. Then, by his own strength, he escapes prison to be on the run while trying to protect Cosette.**

 **Having set the stage, I hope you enjoy. And as always, please review. Thanks.**

* * *

 **Paris, France October 29, 1829**

The stick houses of Rue Saint-Antoine crowded together in the cool of the fall air. It was the coldest night of the autumn this year, perhaps the coldest October 29th that Paris had ever seen, and the wind announced the coming of a terrible winter. The huddled houses seemed to edge a little closer to each other this night, seeking warmth in the cold dead wood of their thin walls. Glowing lights of a few inns advertised a hope for warmth and made the dead neighboring structures seem that much colder.

The poor standing outside, huddled together, steam from their breath rising above them to warm the cold air and not those below. The few that had money to enter the lit inns, made those outside appear that much colder in the icy and lifeless air. The street idlers clung to their ratty shawls, moth-eaten and worn thin-dozens of them grouped at every corner.

Occasionally, a horse and its rider would pass in the streets, not stopping, but traveling to another destination beyond the frigid Faubourg Sainte-Antoine. The horses traveled, perhaps, to the warmer Faubourg Saint-Germain where the wind never seemed to blow so violently, nor the cold bite so sharply-its palatial streets able to appease the gods of winter for a while with their libations of evening soirees. Rue Sainte-Antoine would have no such libations to offer.

Hardly was a carriage seen on the street of Rue Saint-Antoine, let alone one with two horses, or even a coach enclosed for the passenger. However, to the bewilderment of those crowded on the corner, a cherry-wood coach emerged in the distance, its driver a dark man, bundled in a woolen blue jacket, a black scarf, and pointed hat. The horses huffed and blew out hot steam as they plodded on the stone streets, their shod feet drumming a beat of an announcement. The onlookers gaped for a moment until finally their frozen eyes and red faces caused them to turn back into their huddle, the cold being more powerful than their curiosity. The carriage came to a sudden halt in front of one of the inns, the brightest of the dismal buildings on the street, _L'Auberge Du Dragon Vert_. A hanging sign rocked with the gusts of wind, causing the carved image of a curled dragon to seem even more rigid on the wooden plaque.

The driver of the coach, leapt from his seat, as the horses pawed and chewed at their bits, gusts of vapor spewing from their noses. His feet fell to the ground with a soft thud as he removed his hat and opened the red finished door of the carriage. For a moment the open door revealed nothing, but warm darkness. Inside a man stirred. His black robes were disturbed in the stygian darkness as the man exited and emerged into the dim light. He wore the robes of an abbe, a clergyman, and on his head a small back cap, which was hardly accented against his black hair. However, this was no holy man. In another life he was called Edmond Dantes, a man wrongly convicted of a crime, the crime of Napoleonic loyalty, and for that he was sentenced to a solitary cell in the Chateaux D'if, to be tortured every year until the day of his death - an innocent man sent to prison for the fortune of others. For what fortune; for one, to have the woman Edmond loved; for another, to obtain wealth; and for a third, prestige. For such things as these, Edmond's life was taken. Years he spent in that cell, despairing of life, until he had met Abbe Faria, the mad priest, who had educated him and aided in Edmond's escape. Now, just a few months after his escape from the stone fortress, he returned to Paris a wealthy man, having found the immeasurable riches of Monte Cristo and a new life. This new life came with a new purpose, the resolve to avenge the death of Edmond Dantes. For it was as certain as the cold of this night, Edmond Dantes was dead, and a new man was born from that prison. Though he had not yet formed every alias that he would use, today he was Abbe Busoni. On other occasions, he would don the name Lord Wilmore, and with the gold-lined book of the Arabian Nights under his arm instead of the Bible, he would adopt the name, Sinbad. However, ultimately, the dead Edmond Dantes would be known by all in Paris as the Count of Monte Cristo.


	2. Jean Valjean

The common room of _L'Auberge Du Dragon Vert_ was dimly lit with an amber light, as just four gas lanterns burned in the corners. There were four small tables arranged geometrically in the room, and a small podium stood in front of a door to the rear cook's room where the hearth, hidden from the patrons, kept a potato and carrot stew warm. Behind the podium was a thin woman, wearing a worn and smoke stained blouse, its color closer to buff than to white from the burning oil of the lamps and fireplace that she labored by every evening. She might have been a beautiful woman in her earlier years, but now her hair was matted, her fingers worn, and her complexion pale. At thirty-eight, her beauty had been spent on thirsty patrons, burning stews, and ragged overturned bed linens. She was a widow, like many in this city; her husband was long dead in the Napoleonic War, buried in an unmarked grave under horses and men and the dirt of Waterloo. She looked at the patrons that sat at the four tables of her inn. These were her children now, and this inn, her husband. It sheltered her and provided. These walls kissed her goodnight and welcomed her in the morning. It was only these walls that knew her Christian name, and only these walls that comforted her from the shadow of death that was an October in Faubourg Saint-Antoine.

Seven patrons sat at the splintered tables hunched over their stew and ale. Hushed conversations filled the stagnant air as the paired men spoke of their struggles and enemies, either joining in each other's misery or competing for the sadder story. The inn keeper woman kept their cups full and their bowls warm with meal, but her eyes always fell onto the man sitting alone. He was a tall and considerable man, with a full head of snow white hair that rested just shy of his shoulders. His neck was hidden by a high dark jacket with brass buttons, a jacket common for the bourgeoisie, but also mistaken at times for a clerical garb if seen from behind. He cradled his head in the palms of his hands as he was deep in thought.

The man was Jean Valjean, but these patrons and this innkeeper were not to know that name. Although he looked like a well-dressed man-of-renown, he was a convict, sentenced to nineteen years in prison at Toulon for stealing a piece of bread to feed his sister; a sister long since dead, his strong hands forever incapable of rescuing her-the same rugged hands that now rubbed his temples. He had paid for his crime with the justice this world had to provide, for one piece of bread-nineteen years of a man's life, and the death of his loved sister. Yet he had paid it, only to be released as a convict that no one would take in; no one but a priest, Monseigneur Bienvenue. How did Valjean repay the kindness of the priest? He rendered a payment the poor have plenty of, betrayal. Valjean robbed the priest while he slept under the gaze of the crucifix that stood sentinel above the priest's bed. This convict fled in the night only to be caught and brought before the priest. For his larceny, Bienvenu offered mercy. _Give to those who ask of you. If anyone would take from you your coat, give him your cloak as well._ That is what this good priest had done, and with it he purchased Jean Valjean's life for God. However, his redemption was not complete, for though Bienvenu sacrificed much for him, there was one more act of his old self Valjean had to take. With the theft of a small coin from a child, even after the priest's forgiveness, Valjean incurred the ever vigilant pursuit of the law, another arrest and subsequent escape. No matter how the man then reformed himself, how he sought to atone for his wickedness; no matter that he took in a poor child, Cosette, and adopted her as his own to protect from the deadly life of the streets, it did not matter; the hound of the law snapped at his heels. Moving from place to place to keep Cosette safe from his fate, Valjean changed his name and appearance as much as he could. To these men and women of Paris, he was known only as Monsieur LeBlanc, a name that described the appearance of his white hair, but for Valjean it was a sarcastic reminder of the opposite self-image he had of himself-the white. _No, not LeBlanc,_ Valjean would think to himself, _rather Le Noir._


	3. Scheherazade

The door swung open with the dark coachman swinging in with it. He held the door open with attentive care for the abbe to enter. Edmond Dantes stepped through the door, his stiff clerical garb seemed to become even more hardened from the cold air.

The gust of wind from the gaping entry whipped those hunched over their bowls to straighten up and give attention to the newcomer. They were not pleased and tensed their shoulders to fight the fall air.

"I will wait for you in the coach, Father," the coachman addressed Edmond.

"My thanks, Jacopo," Edmond replied and placed his hand on Jacopo's shoulder. "I hope not to be long."

Jacopo nodded with a smile and retreated from the inn, closing the door behind him.

Edmond looked about the room and seeing only one seat approached the white-haired man.

"Monsieur," he addressed, "Would you greatly mind if I shared this table?"

Jean Valjean lifted his head from his hands and looked directly at Edmond, his eyes squinting as he studied the pseudo-cleric. Edmond looked back with the same inquisitive gaze but hid his thoughts more precisely.

"Yes, Father. . ." Valjean replied and motioned with a benevolent hand for Edmond to take a seat.

"Abbe Busoni," Edmond replied and bowed his head, "And thank you, Monsieur . . ."

"LeBlanc. An interesting book for a priest," Valjean commented as Edmond laid the heavy Arabian Nights on the table. The cover was ornamented with a gold genie engraving and a Latin title. He then removed the seat and found his place in it.

Edmond, confidently and without unease answered the inquiry, "You have read it?"

"No," Valjean replied flatly, not wanting to admit that he could read very little, but he did recognize the engraving was non-biblical.

The innkeeper woman sauntered over to the table with a ladle and poured some more watery stew into Valjean's bowl.

"You gonna eat, Father?" She asked Edmond gruffly but then reconsidered her tone.

He placed a few sous on the table, which were promptly swept into the woman's apron. She turned to leave but found her hand grasped by Edmond.

"Madame," Edmond started and looked directly at her. "Are you Madame Canard?"

"Yes," she answered and shuffled her feet with unease at his intent gaze.

Edmond's demeanor was not harsh, but still, the presence of an abbe was enough to make Madame Canard uncomfortable. "I am looking for a banker, Danglars, which I have heard that you have had dealings with."

Madame Canard whipped her hand from his grasp and looked up to his eyes. "I know him. But if you are looking to absolve his sins, I will not direct you to him. Forgive me, Father. Some sins don't deserve forgiving."

"You owe him," Edmond pursued. "How much?"

"Five thousand Francs," Madame Canard almost laughed. "For a one thousand note! Could your absolution, cover that!"

Edmond reached into his pocket and pulled out his hand closed in a fist. He reached and placed the contents into Madame Canard's palm. Valjean could not see the amount, but he could hear the sharp tingle of coins. Madame looked down at the coins and glowed at the sight of what she had just received.

"I believe that will absolve your debt," Edmond smiled.

Madame Canard's knees buckled but she didn't fall. "Oh thank you, Father," she said in an excited whisper.

"Enough, child," Edmond stopped her, trying to avoid a scene. "I am hungry."

"Oh, yes," she replied, "Yes, I have something special, I am sure you will enjoy. Thank you." She rushed off.

Jean Valjean looked on with interest and approval. He took a sip of his stew and smiled. Edmond crossed his arms with a thought of satisfied reflection.

"You are not a priest," Valjean muttered.

Edmond straightened up in his chair, his satisfied countenance disappearing. "What makes you say that?"

"A wealthy abbe would not care for the poor," Valjean said and took another sip. "Either you are a poor priest pretending to be rich." Valjean paused and pierced Edmond with his eyes. "Or you are a wealthy man pretending to be a priest."

Dantes tensed his lip at the last comment and furrowed his dark brow. Valjean was sure to notice, and that gesture told him everything. "Ah, that's what I thought."

Dantes, realizing he had given himself away, regained his composure and leaned forward with a forced smile. His interest in Valjean grew. Since his escape, Dantes had quickly learned the value of finding friends, especially cunning ones. Valjean suddenly seemed more valuable to him, and as Dantes quickly thought of many future possibilities, he became aware of something very slight in the little that he knew about Valjean.

"LeBlanc," Dantes said after the brief pause. "An interesting name."

Valjean took a sip from his cup as if the name was inconsequential. Madame Canard brought a cup of red wine, a piece of bread, and a bowl of stew and placed it in front of Edmond.

"Here you are, Father," she said with admiration. The stew, unlike the others, had red goat's meat in it with the potatoes and carrots, and with the bread and wine, the fare was tantamount to a Saint-Antoine feast. The woman smiled and stood close as if she would have embraced Edmond. "If you would like more, just let me know."

"Thank you, child," Edmond said and blessed the food and woman. Satisfied, Madame Canard walked away having served a holy man and repaid his sacral indulgence.

He sipped the wine but did not taste the food yet, still having a thought he wanted to complete.

"As I said, LeBlanc is an interesting name. Has your family always had snow white hair? Or are you the first LeBlanc?"

Valjean was now uncomfortable, knowing what Dantes was implying. Valjean massaged his hands together in anxiety and then began to get up.

Edmond put a hand on his forearm lightly. "Please, Monsieur LeBlanc, I mean nothing ill. Just that, perhaps, we are kindred spirits. Please stay, you are safe with me."

Valjean resisted and stood up, vacillating between leaving and staying.

Dantes picked up the Arabian Nights with his left hand and quickly spoke. "Scheherazade saved her life by telling one thousand and one tales. But she is not the only tale maker. You and I both have tales we have made. Please sit and I will tell a tale, and if you find it pleasing then you may tell me one as well. Maybe, we are part of very similar stories."

Valjean, so often alone in his struggles, was tempted by the hope of a kindred spirit. He reluctantly took his seat.

"I will only tell you the truth. Who am I? My name is LeBlanc, and my tale is just of a man that tries to pursue happiness, the same as everyone."

Edmond chuckled under his breath. "Of course, Monsieur LeBlanc. We can tell those tales. Yes, we can pretend to tell the truth and pretend to believe each other's stories. Or. . ." Edmond took a bite of the bread and washed it down with some wine. "We can pretend to tell lies, and pretend to disbelieve them."


	4. Metal and Stone

"Very well," Valjean said with reserved interest. "Let's pretend. But I would be careful how you flaunt your money."

Edmond took a sip of his stew, and with real sympathy asked, "What do you know of that?"

Madame Canard came up and filled Valjean's cup with ale and Dantes' cup with wine. She then attempted a very mild and awkward curtsey to Dantes and left. Both men nodded a _thank you_ to her.

Valjean continued the conversation in a low tone. "I know the poor. I know they would steal something as slight as a piece of bread to save their sister and her family. They would scoff at the risk that such an act could send them to Toulon for nineteen years. Some may even sell their child to have a watch like yours." Valjean used his cup to point to the chain hanging from Dantes' side pocket. "Others may steal for no other reason than to just do it, their lives are so defined. The poor would eat themselves in that way as if they were bread. What do you think they would do to a rich priest?"

Edmond knew that Valjean had revealed something about himself, but Dantes was unsure of how much was true of Valjean and how much was just his commentary on the Parisian poor. However, Edmond knew that Valjean was divulging something, and he would not abuse that trust.

"Maybe I am one of those you speak of," Edmond responded. "You do not know how I obtained my wealth." He reached into his pocket again, filled his hand with the pocket's contents and laid it on the table. A few rubies, an emerald, one diamond, and several gleaming gold coins-not French, sat on the splintered and warped surface of the table.

Valjean's eyes widened at the treasure. He threw back the rest of his ale and emptied his cup and then flipped the cup over on top of the wealth, hiding it. "Put that away," he ordered. "For your sake."

Edmond slid the cup to the edge of the table and palmed the falling jewels and gold. They found their rest back into the dark pocket of his cassock. It was a test, and Edmond knew a little more about Valjean's honesty. "What this cost me is a tale to tell," he replied. "What if I killed a man for it? Or sent an innocent man to jail for that? For stone and metal."

Valjean leaned back in his seat and thought hard about what Dantes revealed. He massaged his shaved chin and then crossed his arms. "Was that metal and stone worth it?"

"We'll see," was his flat and distant reply. He took another small sip and looked into the cup at the dregs of the blood red wine.

Valjean pressed further. "Freedom, love, happiness. Those things we think money can buy. We deceive ourselves. Our money and treasure cannot buy those things. They flee from the wealthy _and_ the poor. And what man can catch them at will? They are like cupping oil in your hand. Too soon, it is gone."

Edmond's countenance became very stern as his brow tightened and his knuckles cracked. "Freedom, love, happiness. That is what was taken from me. And this lucre, this wealth, this tarnished metal and stone that men will strive for, kill for, and lie for. This was given to me in its place. What would you say? Was it worth it? No, I killed no man for it. I sent no innocent man the Chateaux D'if, robbing him of his freedom and love and life. But this," Edmond took a breath and patted his pocket. "This gives me hope."

Valjean caught the detail of the Chateaux D'if, an island prison not far from Toulon where he was imprisoned. In an instant, Valjean knew Edmond more intimately, and that interested Valjean, and terrified him. This man was like him. What kind of saint or monster could he be?

"Hope of what?" Valjean finally asked. "To start anew?"

Edmond clasped his hands together and rested his chin on them, covering his mouth. His eyes looked up at Valjean, fire deep in those eyes. Then Edmond replied with one heavy word; one word thick with passion and intent. It carried with it the finality of justice, a justice denied to most of the suffering masses of Paris. What hope did the treasure of Monte Cristo give Edmond?

"Revenge."


	5. Holy Men

Revenge, the word was pregnant with many emotions, but Jean Valjean determined the real motive under Edmond Dantes' desire. The few hints that Dantes had dropped about his past, Valjean had swept up and studied in his mind.

"Justice," Valjean stated. "To punish the wicked: a just endeavor. One would think." Valjean stared blankly beyond Edmond with his own pregnant thoughts.

Edmond seized on the concept of justice as it resonated within him. "Yes! The very Will of God!" Edmond raised his voice and leaned forward in a tense excitement. His eyes were impassioned and his form impressive. "And having found my treasure, God has given me my commission!" Edmond was malignantly serious, and his hands were clenched in fists.

Valjean was careful in his response and looked on Edmond with concern and trepidation. "Ah, even the Commission of God," he replied in almost a whisper. "A Man of God once purchased me from death with metal and stone like yours. How glad I am that he did not take up your commission, instead to take up the Great One." Valjean thought a moment about what he should divulge. He fingered the rim of his empty cup then said, "That man gave up his wealth to purchase me from wickedness for God. Monseigneur Bienvenue, a name that suited him." Valjean stared down at the empty cup, drowning for a moment in his own thoughts.

Edmond's passion lessened a degree. His hands opened from their fists and he sat back in his chair. "A holy man saved you. A holy man saved me, as well. But this man." Edmond paused a moment, and like Valjean, he was reluctant to reveal too much, but seeing Valjean's vulnerability he followed him with reluctance. "Abbe Ferras. For wealth, he was condemned to rot in the Chateau D'if. . .with me. He was innocent of his crimes, as is everyone in that fortress. With his wealth, he purchased me, much like Bienvenue purchased you. And not with his wealth only, but with his mind, teaching me; and eventually he purchased me with his life as well. In his death, he set me free and purchased for me my revenge. My justice."

Valjean nodded but appeared mournful. "A good man. Would such a man of God rush to judgment? Do not be so quick to judge your fellow man, Abbe Busoni. I, myself, know the inside of a prison, Toulon. I have been sentenced to die in prison. My escape was not purchased for me by another, but by my own wit and strength." Valjean held up his worn and calloused hands. "But I escaped my just punishment. One I deserved. One I still deserve. Someday the hound of justice will overtake me. Much like those _you_ chase after. If only I had more time…" Valjean trailed off.

"Time for what?" Edmond inquired, surprised at himself that he found interest in that.

Valjean looked portentously beyond him at the door to Madame Canard's kitchen and made no answer. Edmond's brow arched down in speculation, then he turned to look back at the kitchen door. It was not empty. The door framed a small elf-like girl, almost like a china doll. Her ethereal brown locks rested on her shoulders as if a gust of wind could blow them away. Her delicate white skin balanced large dark eyes that stared toward their table. One small hand was on the frame of the door as she looked trustingly at Jean Valjean from across the room.

"More time to fulfill my word to a mother. . . to protect a daughter." One tear began to form in the corner of Valjean's eye as he looked at the girl. "For my salvation, and for hers."


	6. Children of the Wicked

The china doll girl floated across the room to Jean Valjean and leaned into his side.

"Father," the sprite's voice said as she looked up into his eyes. His large right arm drew her in close and his face looked upon her in fatherly warmth.

"Yes, Cosette," he replied.

"Can I sit with you for dinner?" she questioned and smiled.

"No, little angel. You see I am with this Abbe, and we have much to talk about." He petted the back of her head, but then withdrew his hand abruptly, as if his wretched hand had somehow touched a heavenly being. "Please let Madame Canard know you are hungry. She will prepare something for you. Then go back up to our room, Cosette. I won't be long."

Her smile lessened as she nodded. "Yes, Father." With the same dainty stride, though a little slower, she left and disappeared into the glowing kitchen.

"The little girl you would rescue?" Edmond asked.

"Like another, I failed to rescue so long ago." Valjean's voice was weak and his speech was slow, as if not speaking to Edmond. He continued with more emphasis. "But there is no time." His voice held a seed of anger. "My justice chases me, and I deserve it. Would you so chase the wicked as well?" He glared at Edmond for a moment but the fire vanished, drowned in waters of self-condemnation.

Dantes was cautious in his answer. "Your Cosette. She is innocent. What if she were robbed of her freedom and sent to die for the sins of others?"

Valjean tensed his lips and wiped sweat from his brow. "That is the very thing I am trying to carry her from."

Edmond now slammed his fist on the table. The loud thump echoed in the dark room and the other patrons turned to look at the enraged holy man. Spoons stopped halfway to mouths, and cups hovered in their hands.

"That is what happened to me!" Edmond said loudly. The other patrons, not knowing what he meant slowly resumed eating, but were more careful to keep one ear open on the curious conversation, trying to hide their espial intents.

Edmond continued but in a whisper. "Justice chases after you for your crimes as you admit. But I was sentenced to die for the sins of others. Would I chase them? I would. Their lives I will now exact as restitution."

"Do you know what you would destroy in the process? What if a girl, guiltless like Cosette? Perhaps another child. What if in seeking your justice you condemn the angel?" Valjean replied.

Dantes chuckled a little to himself. "Why would I care for the child of my enemy? The son of a woman I had loved. And now that woman is the mother of my foe's child. Or maybe I should love the lawyer's newborn son. The lawyer that set the trap for me. Or the banker's daughter; the daughter of the man that carried out the hideous plan. The blood of their children would be on their hands. Would you then save them from my wrath?"

"I would save both the innocent and the guilty. Maybe I would think differently if not that I am hoping to be saved from my own nature. Could not others have the hope to be saved from theirs?"

"Saved from their nature," Edmond almost said this sarcastically. "I was once naive and weak, poor and gullible, but now I am master, wealthy, and sovereign. Monsieur Leblanc, there is hope for a changed nature, but not the kind you think. I am now the innocent lamb returned as the lion, and who can save the wicked from my hand?"

"Indeed," Valjean replied. "And who can save the innocent from you as well?"


	7. Life for Life

Edmond seethed with anger at the thought of the guilty spared with the innocent. He tried with great effort to compose himself and took his last sip of wine, dregs and all. The cup was not empty long before Madame Canard was sure to fill it, and Edmond thanked her with a forced blessing. When she had left he returned to Valjean's comment.

"Save the innocent . . ." Edmond said slowly. "Says the man that runs from justice, himself."

Valjean nodded mournfully. The accusation did not anger him, but he accepted it with quiet acquiescence to the charge.

"You counsel me to lay aside my justice," Edmond continued, his voice now more controlled. "But how can I, without harming the innocent as well. It is for the vindication of the innocent that I pursue them." Edmond moved his head to direct attention to Madame Canard. "Would you restrain justice and condemn the widow? I have been abused by these men that I follow, but they continue to abuse. No, Monsieur, justice cannot relent. There is no appeasing it without exacting someone's life."

Valjean nodded again, and again it was mournful. "Justice must be appeased. Life for life. Is there no hope for mercy? I run from a man like you, and only my life will he accept as payment for my sin. What can I give as a ransom for my life? What can I give as a ransom for my angel? All the money in France will not be enough." The questions were not meant to have an answer, for there was no solution to them in the mind of Valjean. "What would make you relent, Abbe Busoni?"

"Only the death of my enemy or my own death," Edmond flatly stated.

Valjean pushed back his white hair and thought of his pursuer, Inspector Javert. "These hands are strong. But not strong enough. With them, I have saved a life. With them, I could take one. But I will not. Already I lay under the burden of guilt and the law. Would I take another burden onto my back? The weight of it these hands could not lift. Like a cart loaded with sod, I may lift it to save another, but I could not lift it to save myself. The weight of it would crush me."

Edmond found it difficult to dislike this man after seeing his sorrow. He saw the burden Valjean carried as if it were the cart he had spoken of pressing down on him. "Maybe there is such a thing as a changed nature. But there is no changing justice. I am sorry for you, Monsieur Leblanc. Perhaps you could run to Italy, somewhere far from justice."

Valjean shook his head. "Is there anywhere you would not go to pursue the wicked? Is there anywhere in the world they could run from you?"

Edmond did not answer.

Valjean understood his silence. "I carry my guilt with me. I cannot leave it here."

"Then you must find someone to take Cosette from you before you are overtaken," Edmond advised.

"And how can I do that? She is the only thing that keeps me from becoming what I was. To give her up is to return to the darkness. To sacrifice me to hell."

Edmond saw in Valjean an omen and a warning for his own future. The seed of a thought grew in his mind but he did not form it into words before Valjean did it for him.

"Abbe Busoni, I warn you. Do not go so far in your vengeance, that you become like me. Flee from becoming wicked yourself, or this burden will rest on you. And how can that justice be appeased?"

Edmond felt the sudden and commanding urge to escape the miserable inn.


	8. October on Rue Sainte-Antoine

There was a protracted silence between them after Valjean's warning. The inn was unusually quiet and Valjean and Dantes realized that the other patrons were intentionally directing their attention their way. Neither were comfortable with the observation, and each drew back into themselves.

"We have made too much of ourselves here, and I fear we have put our stories on display," Valjean said in almost a whisper.

"You will not be able to stay here any longer, I suspect," Edmond commented.

Valjean nodded without surprise. "C'est notre vie."

Edmond closed his eyes, reflecting on the man in front of him and the life he led. A chasm gaped just behind both him and the girl he protected; a stygian abyss ready to swallow them both. "Do you have a place to go?"

"No," Valjean stated, deep in thought. Already he was making plans in his head for where he could abscond.

"I was here to purchase a house for my . . . future endeavors. There is one on Rue Plumet that I was going to purchase. You will know which one it was if you ask for the home Lord Wilmore was interested in. Look into that," Edmond advised. "And I suggest you purchase others as well. Do you understand?"

Valjean smiled. "Thank you for your advice, Abbe."

Edmond wiped his mouth with his cassock and stood up. "Thank you for _your_ warning. And I hope for a new life for your angel. Though I have no hope for your escape from justice." He spoke those words, not as a cold judge, but from a compassionate soul.

Valjean thought of the crucifix that watched over the sleeping Monseigneur Bienvenu, the night Valjean had stolen from him. "As you said, only in death can justice be appeased," Valjean replied. He stood to formally offer his adieu and bowed his head to the _holy_ man.

Dantes bowed his head to him as well. "We are very different, Monsieur LeBlanc."

"And very similar, Abbe Busoni," Valjean replied.

Edmond offered a warm smile to the old man. "Perhaps."

Madame Canard rushed up to Dantes in a panic. "Father, you are leaving? I had almost forgotten." She gave him a small paper note, folded multiple times- too many times. "The address of Danglars business. Forgive me my hatred for him. I know that was not Christian of me."

Edmond took the note and then softly took the woman's pale hands. "Forgiveness. . ." He was speechless for a moment. "That is God's work. Go in peace."

The innkeeper brightened at the comment, her light pink lips raising slightly at the edges. "Thank you, Father."

Edmond released her hands and turned to go to the door, the only bastion to the cold October night. He braced himself as he placed his hand on the latch. It was going to be a cold and uncaring future on the other side of that door. Was he prepared to fight the death and bitter cold that Paris had in store? The winter would be long this year, and for many years into the future; until Dantes finds his own rest, perhaps in the long cold sleep of another October on Rue Saint-Antoine. The same October that threatens to overcome all of us.

Edmond opened the latch.

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